You can't go back, even if you want to...

On March 9th, of this year, three states away, an old friend from college got out a box of notes, cards and pictures, clearing through these things for an upcoming yard sale...

...stop me, Brandi, if this is something that I can't or shouldn't talk about...

In digging through all of these layers of who she was in high school, college and beyond, it made her remember so much of her past. The people that she used to know. The people she lost. The people she still has contact with.

And me.

I'm in the the third category. People she still has contact with.

And feeling this nostalgia, she wrote me this very lovely, long, expressive email about what she found and what she was thinking about. Events centered around her losing her virginity to a guy that we both knew. And how I reacted to it. (The judgmental little prick that I was, I gave her grief about it. Not because I objected to sex, but because I thought the guy was a grade-a asshole and it was disappointing that she not only didn't see that, but because she wanted to sleep with him. Ah, these things seemed like such a big deal, back then.)

I didn't remember much about the conversation that she and I had about that event, but in reading her memories about it, I could almost see the whole day and what we said then. So intense to go back and think about that stuff. 15 years later...

Jesus, 15 years.

What have I been doing with my time?

Anyways, she talked about Myspace and the people she'd found on there. She named two girls that I vaguely remembered. One of them, more than the other. In fact, I crushed pretty hard on the first little gal. God, the dumb things I did to try to get her attention. I wish I'd just relaxed and enjoyed her friendship. That was all the was offering.

The other girl, I remembered a little less well. Looking back at a picture of her on my friends Myspace page, I had dim memory that she was a bit of a bad girl, back then. I think that she probably didn't pay too much attention to me, back then. I was probably a little bit scared of her.

And so, with my friends encouragement, I logged onto Myspace under the auspice of the show that I produce and located the page for my high school.

I found almost 1200 people registered on there as alumni of that school.

Fuck, that's a lot of people.

I narrowed the search down to people, aged 29 - 33. Being 32 myself, that would've included people who graduated a year ahead of me and the people in the three grades below me. Surely some of them would've been friends.

That narrowed the search down to 29 pages of people. With 6 entries on each page, that was 174 individual myspace pages to sift through, looking for familiar faces.

The first thing that I noticed is that the user names were little help. I didn't graduate from high school with anyone named "PoohBear" or "SuCkontHiZBItcheZ".

So, I decided to skip the names and concentrate on the people nearest to my age rage and if possible to the picture. If I thought I recognized the person and/or they were vaguely near my own age, I would click on the page and take a good look at them. I looked at picture pages and blog entries and friends lists, looking for anything familiar.

I didn't find many familiar faces.

Maybe it's because that seems so far removed from me.
Maybe because my memory isn't as strong for me, as I thought it was.

Whatever the reason, I would look at these people and click through their picture pages and think, "Nope. No idea who this person is."

Even though the names and faces weren't familiar to me, the lifestyles were. I saw tons of pictures of people at the Kentucky Derby or down by the Ohio river. I saw wedding pictures, beach vacations, random formal occasions, posing in frozen smiles with people I didn't recognize. I saw family pictures with kids. I saw holiday pictures with now ancient parents. People hugging and smiling at the camera. People kissing. The pictures that people chose to represent them on Myspace to strangers and friends alike.

I was shocked to see how many of those people stayed back in Kentucky. The souls that moved out really were the exceptions to the rule. If I were to guess, I would say that 95% of the people I looked at were still in Kentucky, a few miles from home and/or the school.

I guess I felt proud, for a little bit, that I'm not there anymore. That I live in the city I always wanted to live in, wearing silly little costumes and acting a right turd at my little theater. I like my life and I just couldn't live it, if I'd stayed back in Kentucky. There just aren't places there for people like me to be who we need to be. Maybe it was less a move of accomplishment and more of one of survival. I had to get out, to go to a different place to become myself.

In her email to me, my friend mentioned a possible reunion some time this year for all of the old drama people. I think that she anticipated that I would avoid it because I avoided my own 10 year high school reunion.

But I wouldn't.

I would go to a theater reunion. (And I'll likely go to my own 20 year high school reunion.)

I am happy with who I am and where I live and how I live. I don't have pictures of kids, at the beach, but I have these wonderful stories about the rare life that I get to live. I'm comfortable in my own skin and with my own nearly receded hairline. I would be comfortable going home and catching up with old friends and old acquaintances. I like who I am. I think that they might like who I am too.

And if they don't, fuck em. They're all getting fatter and balder too. Such is life.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I want to go put on my ipod, and take a mile-long stroll around my neighborhood. I'm feeling paunchier, fatter and balder than I normally do and I am compelled to take a few steps (three blocks worth, actually) to trim off the two brownies I had at the the intern, theater performance tonight.

Cheers,
The guy in the picture below (15 years later)